


The Midwife

by Melyanna (darthmelyanna)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Western, F/M, Sorry Not Sorry, chapel as a midwife, there's a lot about clothes too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 10:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthmelyanna/pseuds/Melyanna
Summary: Leonard McCoy is not the first to come west, looking to start over.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miera/gifts).



> This story is a western AU, set in a fictitious town in Dakota territory, a few decades after the Civil War. I have made no attempt whatsoever to get all the Trek characters into this, though a few do appear. It was mostly an excuse to stare at pictures of Karl Urban in period costume and call it inspiration. ;)

  
As a doctor, Leonard McCoy was trained to observe carefully, but that did not explain why he always remembered, in absurd detail, everything about the moment he first laid eyes on Mrs. Christine Chapel.

Dakota territory was everything his old friend Jim Kirk claimed it was, sobering in its vastness and seemingly untouched by man. The township of Enterprise stood out like a ship on the seas. McCoy had come with his daughter on Jim's request. The doctor in town had died suddenly. Jim, having heard of the death of McCoy's wife a year before, must have sent the telegraph within hours of the other man's burial.

So with nothing left for them in Georgia, Leonard packed up everything and headed west. For Joanna, it was a great adventure, a distraction from all the sorrow of recent months. Every day there was something new to see, and Leonard took much enjoyment from explaining the things they saw to his little girl.

Her eyes were huge, taking in everything as he lifted her down from the stage at the edge of town. He set her on her feet and waited for the driver to get their belongings. He took a look around as well, and his eyes eventually rested on a woman standing on the porch of a nearby building. Her golden hair was pulled back, and she wore a green dress, partially covered by a large apron. She had a broom in her hand and held it as though she was busy, but she was standing as still as a statue. In fact, had the wind not rustled her skirts, he might have thought she was a wax figure.

Joanna carried a satchel of her own, but two boys from the livery came up and Leonard paid them to take their trunks to the hotel. Before they got far, Jim Kirk approached them. "McCoy!" he called. "Bones! So good to see you."

Jim gave him a hearty handshake, then turned his attention to the little girl now clutching McCoy's hand. "You must be Miss Joanna," Jim said.

Joanna looked up at Leonard. "It's all right," he assured her. "This character is my old friend, Mr. Kirk. I've told you stories about him."

"It's good to meet you, Mr. Kirk," Joanna said shyly.

Leonard looked away and saw the woman still standing on the porch, watching them. When their eyes met, she suddenly moved, busying herself with sweeping the stoop. Jim cleared his throat, getting his attention back. "I was going to take you to the hotel, but perhaps I should introduce you to the midwife first."

"That's the midwife?" he blurted out.

"Don't gape, Bones; it's impolite."

Leonard recovered from his shock as they walked toward the house. "Mrs. Chapel," Jim called, in a tone that was scandalously flirtatious, "would you come and meet an old friend of mine?"

McCoy thought he saw a flicker of irritation on her face, but she was clearly a proper lady, even out here. She set the broom aside and walked down the steps. For a moment, he got a glimpse of her hair brilliant and shining in the sun, but then she pulled her bonnet up to shield her fair skin. And she was beautiful. It was hard to imagine why she had chosen an occupation rather than find a rich husband back east. She clearly could have if she'd wanted.

"Mrs. Chapel, allow me to introduce Doctor Leonard McCoy and his lovely daughter, Joanna," Jim said, and the lady smiled at Joanna. "Bones, Joanna, Mrs. Christine Chapel."

Leonard touched the brim of his hat, and she nodded to him. "Doctor," Mrs. Chapel said.

"Ma'am," he replied. "I understand you to be the midwife."

"I am," she said. "Been taking care of things other than babies since Doc Ellis died."

That didn't surprise him much. She would have been the only one in town with knowledge or ability to treat more than the most basic maladies. "When my daughter and I are settled, I may call on you to discuss some of your long-term patients."

"Certainly," she replied. She glanced briefly at all three faces. "I'm afraid I cannot stay and talk. I must see to Mrs. Clay."

"Mr. Clay must be beside himself," Jim remarked.

"Babies come when they're meant to come and not a moment sooner." To McCoy she said, "Welcome to Enterprise. I look forward to speaking with you."

"Good day, Mrs. Chapel," he replied, tipping his hat again.

As the midwife walked away, Jim started chattering again as was his wont, but McCoy kept his eyes trained on Mrs. Chapel. He would not admit it yet, not after an acquaintance of three minutes, but she had utterly captivated him already.

* * *

  
The way the new doctor looked at Christine reminded her of what it was like to arrive in Dakota territory. She had come west hoping to change, knowing she could not always be the belle of the ball and knowing that she had to do something worthwhile. Life on the prairie was hard, no two ways around it, but hard was what she'd wanted so badly when she came here.

She shook off those memories, though, as she came into the Clay house. Mrs. Clay should have delivered a week ago, but Christine had learned early in her training what she had told Mr. Kirk. There was no way to rush nature in these things. The best thing to do was remain vigilant. Here, near the end, Christine was checking on Mrs. Clay every day.

The mother-to-be was carrying the baby lower than before. This was happening soon, she assured them. When she returned to her home, she got the portable bed, which she carried from one delivery to another, into her wagon. These things always seemed to happen in the dead of night, and she would not be caught unprepared.

Christine had three other pregnant patients besides Mrs. Clay, and she called on each of them in their turn. At each house, someone tried to give her the news of the new doctor in town and the wild rumors already springing up about the man. She patiently listened and corrected the rumors she knew to be untrue.

As she was coming out of the home of the last of those patients, one of the younger Chekov boys, Alexei, came tearing down the street. "Mrs. Chapel!" he cried. "Mrs. Chapel, it's the baby."

He turned and ran pell-mell in the other direction, and Christine caught up her skirts in one hand, her bag in the other, and chased after him, wondering what in the world had happened. A few yards down the road, however, Alexei ran straight into Jim Kirk, who brought him to a dead stop and asked what was wrong.

Christine caught up just as Alexei was screaming at Mr. Kirk to be let go. "Mr. Kirk, his little sister needs me," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the child. She laid her hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's all right, Alexei. I'm coming with you," she reminded him.

The boy quieted, although he still squirmed against Kirk's hold. "I can fetch McCoy," Kirk offered.

Christine shook her head. "Let him have a little time to rest."

"All right. But let me drive you two out there. And if McCoy is needed, I can come back to town quickly."

Andrei Chekov and his family lived just outside of town. Little Alexei took much of the wagon ride back to his home to catch his breath again. When they arrived at the claim shanty, Alexei leapt down to the ground almost before the wagon came to a stop. The eldest Chekov, Pavel, who actually had his own claim neighboring his father's, was waving them toward the barn, however, and Kirk brought the wagon about to deliver Christine to its door.

"What's the matter?" she asked of Pavel. Past experience had taught her that of the adults in the family, Pavel's English was the most reliable.

"Marya fell and hit her head," he replied.

Christine hurried inside, where the toddler was screaming while her mother held a cloth to her forehead. Kneeling down with them, Christine gingerly pulled the cloth away from the baby's injury. Marya screamed even louder, but Christine had spent too many hours with women in labor to mind the noise. "Shh, Masha," she said absently. Then she looked up to Mr. Kirk, who was hovering in the open door. "Fetch the doctor."

Kirk did not need to be told twice. In a moment he was running back to his wagon, and Christine had no doubt he would bring the doctor back as quickly as his horses would allow. Meanwhile, though, Mr. Chekov looked at her in some amount of panic. "You sent for doctor?" he asked.

"The new doctor arrived today," Christine explained. "And I think he should look at this."

By the time Kirk returned with McCoy, Christine had convinced Mrs. Chekov to relinquish her daughter to Christine's arms. McCoy looked faintly puzzled to see her on the floor with his patient in her lap, but Christine only shrugged a little. "They sent for me because they didn't know about you," she said quietly.

He shook his head as he joined her on the floor. For her part, Christine was grateful that she wasn't asked to stand up with the child. He spent a minute organizing his things, then asked her to remove the cloth. The wound was still bleeding and Marya's screaming renewed. Christine did her best to keep the child still while the doctor examined her, and she whispered what little Russian she knew in an attempt to help.

The gash required stitches, so Christine asked Pavel to get the children out of the room, at least. He managed to get his mother to step outside as well, although Andrei stayed behind and watched, murmuring something over and over while McCoy worked. Christine was impressed by the doctor. Obviously he had sedated Marya before stitching up the wound, but her screaming and squirming had not seemed to bother him while he examined her. He also took care to address Mr. Chekov periodically, trying to reassure him that his little one was not gravely injured.

When it was finally over, the anxious father scooped Marya out of Christine's arms. A few moments later, she found Dr. McCoy's hand before her eyes. She looked up while she placed her hand in his and let him help her stand. "Thank you, Doctor," she said, while he kept her hand in his a moment too long.

He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. They walked out into the bright sunlight of the afternoon together, and Christine held back while the doctor spoke to Mrs. Chekov and Pavel. She wiped her hands on a scrap of muslin from her bag, trying to get as much of the blood off as possible before pulling her sunbonnet on again.

McCoy finished in a few moments. He seemed annoyed at Mrs. Chekov's highly enthusiastic gratitude, but Christine was used to the woman. Then she went back to her baby and the doctor walked Christine back to Mr. Kirk's wagon, though slowly. "I wouldn't have thought a lady out here would speak Russian," he said abruptly.

The idea made Christine laugh. "Oh, no," she replied. "I attended Mrs. Chekov last year when Marya was born. I learned a little Russian, just enough to reassure her and give encouragement."

At the wagon, Mr. Kirk was entertaining the doctor's daughter, and Christine stood with Dr. McCoy by the wagon's rear wheels. "Why did you send for me?" he asked. "This town's been without a doctor for months. Kirk told me it's been ages since the old doctor really practiced. Surely you could have handled a few stitches."

His gaze was inquisitive, maybe even demanding, and she found herself compelled to honesty, at least on some level. "I helped bring that child into the world," she replied. "I don't know you, sir, but I imagine you're protective of your patients. I am no less so of mine, and I wanted her to get the best care she could. I'm not too proud to allow that you did better work than I would have."

For several long moments, McCoy stared at her silently. Finally he nodded, but even then he still didn't speak. Jim pulled them out of their strange situation at last, and McCoy handed her up into the wagon before following her. All the way back to town, neither of them said a word to each other, but Christine caught him watching her with sharp scrutiny every now and then.

Mr. Kirk left her at her door, but the doctor helped her down from the wagon even though the sheriff was getting out to do so. Christine thanked them both and watched from her porch as they drove off. The town was lucky to have a good doctor in town now, but she couldn't help but feel a bit wistful at his arrival. Suddenly, her days were much less full of surprise.

Granted, in the dead of night, when the Clays' hired girl banged on the door, Christine was much less romantic in her ideas about surprises.

* * *

  
The first two months of Leonard's time in Enterprise passed more quietly than he might have expected. Oh, certainly, he had all the work he could want and then some, but the town itself was a little dead. It was summer, and the only people in town every day were the shopkeepers and a few others who kept permanent residence there. Everyone else who called Enterprise home was out holding down a claim, trying to tame the wild earth and earn the right to call that land their own.

He and Joanna had arrived just in time for her to start school in the summer term. The class was almost exclusively made up of little ones like her, and she made progress in her reading almost as quickly as she made friends. At the end of a long day, Leonard would often sit down in the rocking chair by the window and read the books from his own childhood with her, taking turns.

They also befriended their neighbors, the LaGranges, an older couple who lived above their general goods store. Mrs. LaGrange had proudly married off her three daughters, and she doted on Joanna like she did her grandchildren. It was a prodigiously convenient arrangement for Leonard, because as soon as Mrs. LaGrange found out that he was the new doctor in town, she insisted that Joanna could stay with her while he was out calling on patients. Mr. LaGrange rolled his eyes and kept his nose in his paper. Leonard availed himself of Mrs. LaGrange's offer a number of times over the summer and did not imagine that he would stop until Joanna was old enough to stay in the house alone.

The house, of course, was somewhat interesting, and Leonard wasn't entirely certain he trusted himself in it, let alone his daughter. They were renting it from a Mr. Scott, who was, appropriately enough, a Scotsman. Mr. Scott was also an inventor. He made his living as a carpenter, smith, and farrier, generally all at the same time, but it was clear that his real passion was making things explode. The town celebration for the Fourth was as grand as anything Leonard had seen in Atlanta, and largely due to Mr. Scott's fireworks. Joanna had never seen its like, and they stayed out so late watching that she had to be carried home.

The advantage to an inventor for a landlord was that they had every modern convenience imaginable in their house. It was quite useful for a doctor to have a water pump indoors, as some of his patients came to him instead of the other way around. The windows were well situated to let in a breeze in the summer, and Mr. Scott assured the McCoys that the house was snug for the winter. But there was always a fear that one of those newfangled contraptions might blow up in his face.

The town kept him busy, certainly. The residents of Enterprise and the surrounding territory had more than their share of illnesses and accidents and whatnot. Every once in a while he asked himself how Mrs. Chapel had managed. He'd known plenty of women, his mother included, who managed far more than most men would imagine, but there were days when he didn't know how to cope with everything himself and he'd been trained for it.

He asked Jim about it once. Jim just shook his head and told him not to underestimate Mrs. Chapel.

* * *

  
Autumn brought a boom to Enterprise. The railroad would be building through town the next spring, which brought a boorish pack of workers, but it also brought new families and entrepreneurs and a host of people who were coming west to start over. The reasons were different for everyone, but Christine knew that feeling well.

The boom brought work for the new doctor, of course, so much that occasionally he sent for Christine to help him. She enjoyed such work far more than a lady ought to admit. McCoy assumed that she knew what she was doing, and while he was curt in his instructions to her, he never treated her as a hindrance in his work. He had no patience for mistakes, but he recognized good work when he saw it.

His behavior while he was not working was not much different from when he was. Upon his arrival, nearly every unmarried lady in the county was eyeing him with a thought of the future. He was quite handsome, and his little girl was charming. But not three months after the McCoys came to town, his manners ran off nearly every lady looking for a husband.

Christine was not much bothered by such things. Her father had been a doctor, and while living in a city (and one not still rebuilding from the war) had softened his brusqueness into something that passed for society manners, he'd still had a way with orders.

McCoy seemed oblivious to it all. He brought his daughter to church with him every Sunday, came to the socials that started again in the fall, and tipped his hat at every young lady as he walked by. To Christine he always gave a nod of the head as well, and often he stopped to speak with her. She knew that this, along with their work together, was more than enough to get the gossips in town wagging their tongues about the two of them, but most of the time she merely shook her head.

It only bothered her, truly, when her own friends were repeating the rumors. It happened once again the afternoon before one of the town literaries. Christine was still getting ready for the evening when her friend Janice Rand arrived. Janice had come from LaGrange's store, where she had heard Mrs. LaGrange talking about the doctor and how "he ought to snap up that pretty widow before someone else comes along."

"'A lady can't wait till eternity, you know,'" Janice repeated. "'If Mrs. Chapel's planning to marry again, she won't hold her horses forever.'"

Christine looked at her reflection in the mirror, torn between a sharp retort and laughter. She chose the latter, as Janice certainly did not deserve what Christine might have said in reply. Janice, though, looked a little confused. "I must say, Christine, I am not sure I could be so calm about it as you are," she said. "Do you not want his attention?"

"I don't need it," Christine said, not precisely answering the question. "I have married once, and I have a profession of my own."

"One which puts you often in the company of a rather handsome gentleman."

"He is rather handsome," she agreed, disappointing Janice in her attempt to fluster or embarrass. "Now, we will be late if we don't leave soon!"

The literary was the first of the season, so the list of performances was shorter than usual. The room was full to overflowing, though, and during the recess, Christine stepped outside to get some air. It was dreadfully warm inside.

She was not alone in that impulse, however. Only a few moments after stepping outside, she was joined by the doctor, who had his drowsy daughter in his arms. "Beg your pardon, ma'am," he said with a nod.

"Are you leaving?" she asked, even though the answer was obvious.

"Yes. I think Joanna will be asleep before we get home."

"M'not tired, Papa," Joanna argued, although its effect was somewhat undercut by the huge yawn that followed.

"I know, sweetheart," he murmured, and Christine felt a surge of warmth at the tone of his voice.

He spoke then to Christine about a patient they needed to discuss. She heard herself answering him, but when she went back inside, she could not have told anyone the details of his question or her reply.

That night, Jim offered to walk her home, which was not unusual. Jim had been her first friend in Enterprise, reminding her of one of her brothers back in New Orleans. For several months after her arrival, all the rumors had been that young Mr. Kirk would be settling down soon. Hardly anyone batted an eye at them anymore, even before the McCoys moved to town.

The McCoys were, however, Jim's choice of conversation on the walk home, or at least one of them was. "I saw you had a little conversation with Bones this evening," he began.

She rolled her eyes. They had had this conversation before. "Mr. Kirk."

"It's all right, Christine," he said lowly, using her Christian name even though it was improper. "Whatever it is going on between you, Lord knows you could both stand to have some happiness."

Christine knew it was best not to deny what Jim was saying, as it would only make him more obstinate. "How long has he been a widower?"

"More than a year, but not by much."

She paused for a moment, wondering if Jim would answer her next question. It was not her business, after all. "How did she die?"

"Childbirth. Her and the baby." Christine bowed her head, knowing from her own observation how painful that could be. "Worst of it was, he didn't even know she'd gone into labor for hours. He'd been called to the other side of town to tend to a patient. When he got back, the midwife had called another doctor, but there wasn't really anything they could do. Her heart was giving out."

She had seen that happen before too. It was frustrating enough for her as a midwife, but she could imagine how much worse it would be for a doctor of McCoy's skill and talent to find his wife dying and know there was nothing he could do to save her. "Shoemakers' wives go barefoot," she mused, "and doctors' wives die young."

They had arrived at Christine's door, and for a while they stood there, saying nothing. She was not sure what to do with this new intelligence. She was also not sure what to do about her own reaction to McCoy earlier. She liked him, certainly, but liking the man was a far cry from what the gossipmongers in town were assuming.

Jim didn't mention the matter to Christine again, although she would sometimes find him watching her, like he was looking for an answer but didn't know how to ask the question. She wondered occasionally if he did the same to McCoy, but she could never tell.

It was not until a few weeks later that she got any indication from McCoy himself of what he thought of her. She had just gone to bed when there was a sudden pounding at her door. She threw her dressing gown on over her nightclothes and ran to open the door, pausing only to grab the shotgun she kept near it.

McCoy was on the other side of the door. "Mrs. Chapel, I do – what the devil?"

His eyes were focused on the gun. She shook her head. "I live alone, Doctor."

"Yes, well, I need you." For a moment, Christine only stared at him dumbly, until he realized what he'd said and his neck and ears grew red. "I need your help," he clarified. "Have you had measles?"

She nodded. "When I was a girl."

"Good. There's a group of immigrants sick. Eight cases already. We need to quarantine them, but they need attention as well."

"Give me a moment."

McCoy inclined his head and stepped away from her door while she shut it. She hurried back to her bedroom, where she hastily dressed herself. In the back of her mind, she was grateful that she wore her corset to bed, uncomfortable as it was. It made this process faster.

The doctor was standing next to his buggy when she came out. He helped her up between the wheels of the buggy before climbing up with her. Once they were off, she asked, "Which group of immigrants?"

"Mr. Chekov said they were from Sweden," he replied. "The younger Mr. Chekov. He speaks a little Swedish and they speak a little Russian."

"Will he be there to help us?"

"Yes."

Christine said little else all the way out to the claim. The doctor seemed to like it that way. She asked if he had left Joanna with his neighbors the LaGranges, to which she got a curt affirmative. After that, the only sounds were the clopping of horses' hoofs and the creak of wheels as they traveled on through the night.

Pavel Chekov was waiting for them in the doorway of the tiny house. Quickly he explained to Christine what he knew of the situation. There were actually two families involved. Those who were not infected had stayed at another house on the next claim, while the sick ones had gathered themselves here.

Through the long night, Christine and McCoy gave as much comfort as they could to their patients. There was little to do but wait for their own bodies to mend, but they still stayed. The sky was very dark when they finally washed their hands and left the house.

As before, he helped her up into the buggy and climbed in beside her. But unlike the drive there, he asked her questions frequently on the way back to her house. Sometimes he asked about the town, sometimes about her patients, sometimes about New Orleans. After a while, Christine realized that he was trying to keep himself awake. She wondered how much of their conversation he would remember after he slept.

They arrived at Christine's door just as the sun was beginning to come up, something she was happy about, as it would lessen the likelihood of someone seeing them return together at such an hour. He helped her down and walked her to her door, where he lingered. "You did good work tonight, Doctor," she said to break the silence.

"So did you," he replied. "Thank you for coming with me."

Christine opened her mouth to respond, but he grasped her hand and lifted it to his lips before she could speak. The gesture caught her completely off-guard and she felt heat rising in her cheeks. Her gaze met his, but before her mortification could be complete, she saw a look of intense admiration and desire in his eyes.

He seemed to remember the time and the place, for he released her hand and stepped back toward his waiting buggy. "Good night, Mrs. Chapel," he said.

Christine groped behind herself for the doorknob and pushed the door open. "Good night, Doctor."

He got back into his buggy and drove away while she stumbled into her house. As she made her way to her bed at last, she wished he hadn't looked at her that way. She wished she didn't know what that look portended. She wished he wasn't a doctor too. She wished he hadn't called her Mrs. Chapel, because that was part of the lie she had been telling ever since St. Louis. She was tired of telling it, but she was more terrified of revealing the truth, even after all this time.

Perhaps more time would wear off the shine of this new acquaintance, and McCoy would move on to someone else, someone who was not hiding her past.

* * *

  
McCoy waited until Joanna was off to school before collapsing in his bed. Even though he had spent all night tending patients, he did not sleep well. His thoughts were too full of Christine.

It was indecent, a man of his age and experience in the world unable to control himself regarding a woman. Especially her, a woman he respected so much. But what he respected about her was swiftly turning to what made her damn near irresistible. And when, in his exhaustion, he had stepped over the bounds of propriety and shown more of his feelings than he intended, she had not seemed to be offended. She had not even tried to pull away.

That would be the death of him, he was sure.

Fortunately, the town gave him a respite that day, and he had hardly risen from his bed before Joanna returned from school. He was very glad for her company that night. To be left alone with his thoughts would have been a torment.

For the next week or two, when he saw Christine in town, he was polite and friendly to her as before, but he did not linger in conversation with her unless he had need of her skills with a patient. Once or twice he caught a bemused look from her, but he hoped she did not guess the cause for his behavior. He could imagine that she would laugh at him for it.

But there were more measles outbreaks, more days when he and the midwife tended patients together. Their rides to and from town were often quiet, for he did not quite know what to say to her when they were so alone.

Harvest was coming up; he expected to be tending injuries more than illness for a few weeks. He was not wrong in that supposition, but the first he treated was not from an accident with a machine or an animal. Instead, it was Jim, who'd been fixing Mr. Rand's roof and taken quite the tumble.

"What were you doing up on that roof anyway?" McCoy asked him as he examined Jim's multitude of injuries. They were sitting on the Rands' back porch, which was across the street and down the block from Christine's house. "You may be a good shot, but I don't think accuracy with a Colt makes you good with hammer and nails."

Jim glared, but his usual desire to talk won out over his irritation. "Miss Rand–"

"Aha," McCoy interrupted.

"Miss Rand," Jim repeated, lower but insistently, "said her father needed help fixing the roof. They had some damage in the storm last week."

"And you could not have recommended that she speak with Mr. Scott or someone from the lumber yard?"

"I offered to help. Is that a crime?"

McCoy ignored the question. "How did you fall?"

"Trying to catch something Mr. Rand dropped," Jim admitted. "Rolled down the roof and caught myself on the eave with one hand, but I couldn't hang on long enough to pull myself back up."

"Probably because you dislocated your shoulder."

"That would explain why it hurts so much."

McCoy was debating the merits of putting the shoulder to rights first before removing the multitude of splinters in his friend's body. His shirt must have caught on several nails on the way down, because it was in tatters. While McCoy thought, however, he heard a door some distance away open and close, and he froze for a moment with a sudden suspicion. Jim didn't notice, which was a testament to how much pain he was in. McCoy's premonition proved right, however, as a few moments later, he heard Mrs. Chapel ask what was wrong.

Without turning around, he said, "Your friend Mr. Kirk is an idiot, ma'am."

When Christine reached his side, he hazarded a glance. She was smiling. "He was your friend long before he was mine, Doctor."

McCoy muttered something about childhood friends being different, but Christine ignored him. "Shoulder first, or the splinters?" she asked.

"I hadn't decided yet," he replied. "What would you do?"

"The great Leonard McCoy is asking for advice?" Jim interrupted.

"Watch it," McCoy replied, "or I'll send you to the horse doctor."

That got Jim to subside, and McCoy looked back at Christine, who appeared to be suppressing a smile with the greatest of efforts. "Shoulder," she said.

"I concur."

Together they got Jim's shoulder back into its socket, which elicited a great yelp from him and much complaining afterward. Then they went about addressing the splinters and cuts all over his torso. Around that time, the Rand boy returned from fetching Jim a shirt, an errand McCoy had sent him on immediately. Jim's undershirt had not survived the fall intact either, but he could walk home and change that himself.

He would not be doing that right away, of course, as Miss Rand came out onto the porch as soon as Jim was patched up. The speed with which she came to invite Jim into the house for a cup of tea suggested to McCoy that the girl had been watching from inside the house. He glanced sidelong at Mrs. Chapel, who was biting her lip in a rare outward sign of her inward desire to laugh.

Miss Rand did pause long enough to ask the doctor and midwife in for tea as well, but they both refused politely. Once the door was closed, McCoy sat down on the porch and sighed. "He's going to kill himself someday, trying to impress her."

Now Christine did smile openly. "He might marry her soon enough, and then he might not feel the need to impress her so much."

"Are you sure? He might feel even more inclined to help his father-in-law with the roof." He looked into the middle distance as the weight of that sank in. "Jim Kirk, a married man. I am not sure I can imagine it."

"People in town have no problem with it."

"They have not known him as long as I have."

He started to gather up his supplies, and when he was finished, he stood and offered Christine his arm. She seemed to fit easily at his side. "When I arrived here, the whole town was convinced within six weeks that he and I would be married by Christmas."

"Was there reason to think that?" McCoy asked.

"Jim is a flirt. But before Miss Rand, I was not sure he knew what to do with a woman once compliments and smiles lost their charm." There was silence for a moment, and then Christine laughed. "I fear we are gossiping like old women."

McCoy joined her in laughing and changed the subject.

She had been on her way to see a patient, and he walked her to the house in question. After they parted, he stood at the side of the street and pulled out his pocket watch. He had just enough time to get home before Joanna arrived. If he was late, she would go to Mrs. LaGrange, who would want to know what had kept him. If she found out that he had been with Christine, the whole town would know before nightfall.

He did not run home, but he came close.

The wheat harvest was good this year, better than usual if McCoy believed the boasting of the farmers he saw. All he knew was that he saw an increase in injuries to treat, as he'd predicted. Mrs. Chapel was not available to help him as much now, being much engaged with two patients of her own who were close to delivering.

The first, Mrs. Wilde, lived on the edge of town and went into labor at eight o'clock in the morning, and a healthy baby boy was born before sundown. It was Mrs. Wilde's fifth child, and Mrs. Chapel had not been concerned about her. The second was Mrs. Pike, wife of Captain Pike, who had fought in the Union Army. Leonard had found that he liked the man anyway, though they never talked about politics or anything like it.

Mrs. Pike seemed to be a friend of Mrs. Chapel's and well liked in town. McCoy was told that she had been the settlement's first schoolteacher until her marriage two years earlier. She was older than most new mothers, which accounted for the look of concern Christine always got when she spoke of the woman.

The Ladies' Aid society hosted a supper at the church in the fall, after the harvest came in. There would be dancing afterward, which McCoy was decidedly not looking forward to, but at least that would be preceded by a meal cooked by someone more competent with a stove than him.

Joanna was very excited about it, and Leonard had to smile at the sight of her trying not to run everywhere to see everything at once. But nothing excited her more than Jim's appearance, especially when he swung her up in the air till she screamed with glee.

By the time the dancing began, Joanna was sitting with Mrs. Chekov, who was amusing her with sweets and Russian nicknames. This left Leonard without his natural defense against any young ladies in town not put off by his irascibility. Part of him wondered why he was so keen to avoid this, anyway. It had been over a year since he had lost Jocelyn and the baby. Joanna would need someone to teach her all the things he could not. And he was lonely, if he was honest. He loved his daughter dearly, but it was not the same.

Christine Chapel suddenly appeared in his vision, laughing as she twirled about with Jim. She was looking particularly beautiful this evening, with a few curls of blonde hair framing her face. The blue dress she wore was striking, a great contrast to the more practical dresses he usually saw her in.

McCoy found himself as captivated by her as he had the day they arrived, and only now was he beginning to think of her without feeling guilt over Jocelyn. Added to her beauty was the charm of a well-educated woman, confident in all she did and able to do for herself. It was not something that would appeal to all men, but Leonard had found himself drawn to her from the very beginning.

Jim sauntered over when the music stopped and the dancers were rearranging themselves. Christine – and he really ought to stop thinking of her that way – seemed to be sitting out the next dance. Jim grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of his chair, not something Leonard would have thought the smaller man could do. "Are you going to stare at her all night, or are you going to ask her to dance?"

"You ought to mind your own business, Jim," Leonard replied.

"I am going to dance with Miss Rand now," Jim told him coolly, "and if you don't ask Mrs. Chapel to stand up with you, you're a bigger fool than I ever thought."

Christine chose that moment to look over her shoulder at them, almost as though she had heard her name spoken. Leonard glared at Jim for a moment, but the man was right. Annoying, but right.

Jim was still glaring as he walked away to his waiting partner. McCoy was much slower in approaching Mrs. Chapel. When he was finally near enough to speak to her, she looked amused even before he opened his mouth. She would not make this easy on him, apparently. "Will you dance with me, Mrs. Chapel?" he asked, then cleared his throat rather inelegantly.

"I'd be delighted, Doctor," she replied, smiling at him as she placed her hand in his and rose from her seat.

"I ought to warn you," he said quietly as they stood with the rest of the dancers, waiting for the music to begin. "I haven't done this in some time."

She smiled wickedly. "Then should I lead?"

Laughing, he replied, "I think I'm even worse at following."

The fiddler played a few bars to let the dancers know what was coming. Leonard took Christine's hand and drew her close while her other hand came to rest on his arm. For a moment, they merely stared at each other in silence, and he knew, _knew_ , that she was the only woman he would ever care about again.

He'd liked her since he met her, and lusted after her almost as long. That morning a few weeks ago, after they had worked together throughout the night, he was certain he had shown more affection than he intended to. There was a proper way of going about such things, after all. But this, he thought as the music began, this was right.

The dance was simple and slow, and he only looked at his feet once or twice. Christine felt so right in his arms that he had no idea how he managed to keep up with the music. They spoke precious little to each other, which probably drew the attention the onlookers, but for once Leonard did not mind.

There was one whose attention he could not ignore, however. After the music slowed and stopped, Joanna's laughter finally broke the spell, and Leonard looked away from his partner. Mr. Scott was entertaining Joanna now, and when Leonard glanced at Mrs. Chapel, she was smiling. They began to walk away from the dance floor as she said, "She is a sweet girl."

"I'm inclined to agree," he replied, which made her laugh. He did love drawing that reaction from her when normally she was so proper and restrained.

Before either of them could say anything else, someone came running up to them. It was Mrs. Pike's niece. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Chapel," she said, "but my aunt needs you."

Christine nodded. "I will be there as soon as I can. I must fetch my things first." The girl looked at her uncertainly, so Christine added, "Go back to your aunt. She'll need you as well."

With that admonition, the girl hurried off again. Her presence had been noted, however, and soon Miss Rand and a handful of other ladies gathered around. Christine smiled at them and took charge of the proceedings. "I am afraid we are going to deprive these kind gentlemen of their partners," she joked. "But Mrs. Pike and I will need your help tonight."

She gave them instructions, and they went off, some directly to the Pikes' and some to fetch supplies on the way. Soon McCoy alone was left, and Christine turned to face him. "I may need you as well before the night is over."

"I know," he replied. "I will have Mrs. LaGrange take Joanna tonight, just in case."

She squeezed his arm briefly but affectionately. "Thank you."

She hurried off then to leave the dance, and McCoy stood watching until she was out of sight.

* * *

  
It was past noon the next day when Christine called for McCoy's assistance. Mrs. Pike was having a hard time of the delivery, and she started losing more blood than Christine was comfortable with after about eighteen hours. Though the doctor was not an expert in such matters, he confirmed for Christine that Mrs. Pike was not in danger yet. Even so, he stayed with them until the end.

It was a good thing, too, for the bleeding increased toward the end. That was not uncommon in itself, but Christine worried that Mrs. Pike was losing too much. She was weakened by the time the baby slipped into Christine's hands, but for the next two hours, she and McCoy stayed by to see that their patient was improving.

Captain Pike was also concerned about his wife, but he was considerably pleased by the birth of his son, who was instantly named Christopher for his father. After a while, two of the Pikes' neighbors offered to stay with the family for the night, so that Christine and McCoy could go home. Christine in particular had been awake for a very long time, and the sun was already down again.

McCoy walked her to her back door. A new moon was out, so the night was very dark even though there were no clouds. As they neared her home, she said, "I may have overreacted today, sending for you."

He folded his hand over hers as it rested on his arm. "Don't trouble yourself, Mrs. Chapel," he replied. "I was glad to help you."

There was something open and honest in his words, and Christine raised her gaze to him. His green eyes were warm and piercing even in the dim light. They came to her door and stopped, facing each other.

He was only a few inches taller than her, and at the moment he was only a few inches away. It seemed as though he was holding her closer now than he had been when they danced together, even though now he only held her hand. Christine could not bear to step back, despite the risk of some nosy townsman stepping outside and seeing them.

"Thank you, Doctor," she whispered, unable to raise her voice, not when he was staring at her so intently.

"My name is Leonard, Christine," he murmured while he leaned closer.

The sound of her name sent a thrill down her spine and made her forget all about the impropriety of this moment. "Leonard," she replied in kind, nodding ever so slightly.

His lips brushed against hers slowly, gently, as though he was utterly unconcerned about the risk of their being caught this way. Christine raised her hands to his shoulders and Leonard let his drop to her sides. Her pulse quickened and warmth washed through her, but still she felt like this was exactly the right place to be. As he explored her mouth, she let out a sound of pleasure and felt him smile against her lips.

Even as the kiss ended, they could not seem to separate entirely. His hands nearly spanned her waist as he nibbled along her jaw. "Leonard," she breathed again, running her fingers through his hair and wondering when they had knocked his hat off.

She felt him smile again, but then he froze. "We're standing in the street, aren't we."

"Yes," she replied. He drew away from her and picked his hat up from the ground, and while he did so, Christine tried to keep her thoughts from racing. There was no reason this had to go anywhere, no reason she had to divulge her deepest secrets to this man. Yet a traitorous part of her mind was pointing out that she did not want this to stop. If anything, she wanted to open the door and lead him inside.

It was only the thought of how much he did not know about her that stopped her from making the suggestion. From the look in his eyes, she imagined he would not have resisted her. But she opened the door and crossed the threshold into her house, leaving him outside. He was not quite finished, though. "Will you come for a ride with Joanna and me tomorrow afternoon, Christine?" he asked.

She ought to say no. She knew this. Still she nodded and offered a small smile, and Leonard leaned in and kissed her cheek. Christine said good night to him and shut the door as quickly as she could, however, and for a long time she leaned against the door, knowing that she needed to tell him everything. He deserved no less than the truth.

Now she only needed to screw up the courage to tell it.


	2. Chapter 2

Christine was not in church the next morning, which did not much surprise Leonard. When they had parted the previous night, she had been awake for more than a day and a half. Her exhaustion had been plain, and it made Leonard feel a little guilty for what he'd done. He had been harboring a want for her for some time, but his conscience was pricked at having taken advantage of her state of mind.

On the other hand, his waking hours were now filled with the memory of her soft lips against his, her slender figure in his hands, and the sound of her saying his name. That had been enough to fuel a restless night filled with scattered dreams of her. He was glad when she did not come to church. He needed no reminders of what he so desperately wanted.

In the end, he chose not to take Joanna with him that afternoon, but left her with Mrs. LaGrange. Mrs. Chapel was waiting when he arrived, looking much more alert than she had the previous night. She looked surprised to see him alone, so he said, "I thought maybe it wasn't the best idea to bring Joanna today." Maybe another time, he wanted to add, but he would not presume.

She nodded and accepted his help getting into the buggy. His horse was calm enough not to be bothered by it, and soon they set off. Mrs. Chapel lived toward one end of town, so they headed out into the surrounding countryside. The fields were golden now and the air was just a little crisp.

Neither of them spoke for the first few miles of the trip. Leonard was beginning to wonder at her silence when Christine yawned. "Forgive me," she said.

"No need," he replied. "You had a long day, I know."

She nodded in assent. "I checked on Mrs. Pike this morning. She's doing well, as is the baby."

"That's good to hear."

They lapsed into silence again, but Leonard forced himself to concentrate on the road and the view before them rather than worry about his companion. Mrs. Chapel would speak when she was ready to.

Finally she seemed to rouse herself somewhat, and she smiled at him. "So how do you and Mr. Kirk know each other?" she asked. "I thought he was from Iowa."

"His father died in the war," he replied. "He and his mother came to Savannah afterward to live with her cousin. Till she married again, we lived down the street from each other."

Christine nodded. "Do you remember much of the war?"

He shook his head. "I know all the stories so well sometimes it seems I do, but no. I was too young."

From there it was not difficult to find something to talk about, and they were near to thirty miles from town before it occurred to Leonard that at some point they had to turn back. He pulled the horse to a stop near a small lake, and for some time, they looked out at it. This place looked nothing like home, but he knew he would come to love it one day for its starkness and quietness. He had always disliked the bustle of cities.

His eyes drifted to his companion, and he cleared his throat, knowing he had to say something to her. "Let me apologize for last night, Mrs. Chapel," he said, and she turned an amazed look at him. "You were tired. I should have restrained myself."

"Yes, you should have," she agreed. "But I was in my right mind. I should have pushed you away."

"You did seem to encourage me."

"I did."

He caught her eye, and together they laughed. That finally relaxed him enough that when he had started the horse again, he laid his arm across the low back of the buggy seat, not holding her, but he was touching her more than she would probably permit in the presence of others. But soon he could sense the tension in her shoulders, and he saw that she was staring down at her hands rather at their surroundings. "Mrs. Chapel?" he said. "Is something wrong?"

She sighed and pressed the backs of her fingers to her cheek for a moment. "There is something I must tell you, Doctor," she said lowly. "I wish with all my heart that I did not, but if your intentions are what I think they are, you deserve to know now."

Leonard could not imagine what she could mean, and some of his nervousness returned. He released her, taking the reins in both hands. "What is it?"

"It's about my husband. And how he died."

He looked at her face, and the anguish and guilt he saw there said more than she probably imagined. She seemed to be having difficulty saying anything more, however, so he focused his eyes on the road and said, "He hit you, then."

She didn't answer right away, and Leonard didn't press for a reply. He knew Christine to be an independent, intelligent woman, capable of making her own decisions. It was obvious that she had made up her mind to tell him this, so he would let her tell him in her own time.

Finally she laughed a little to herself and wiped her eyes. "I wonder sometimes how he would feel, knowing I've spent so much time thinking of him when he's long dead. I don't think he ever thought this much about me when we were married," she replied. Then she sobered. "I found another lady's stockings in... I suppose it doesn't much matter where I found them. But I confronted him about it, and soon we were shouting at each other, and all of the sudden, he had me pinned against the dining table and his hands were around my throat."

There she stopped, for her voice had broken. Leonard held his tongue, but his mind was reeling. He'd never had much respect for a man who beat his wife, nor for a man who willfully forsook his oaths. Whatever his own failings, Leonard had been faithful to Jocelyn, and even in the worst of their fights, he never would have raised his hand against her.

When Christine spoke again, her voice was low and mournful. "I grabbed the first thing I found. It was a knife from the table."

She said nothing more. After a moment of hesitation, Leonard reached to cover her hands. They were cold and shaking. For a long time, they stayed thus while they approached the town. The sun was setting behind them, and stars were just beginning to come out in the vast sky. In the silence, he thought over what she had said at the onset. She trusted him to keep this secret, but she had told him this as a warning of sorts. He had a child, after all, and he needed to know everything so that he could make the best decision for Joanna and himself.

"What did you do afterward?" he asked.

"I ran as fast and as far from St. Louis as I could," she replied. The trembling in her hands seemed to have stopped, but Leonard would not say she had relaxed. "I thought about going back home to New Orleans, but I thought someone might find me if I went back to my family. So I started using my maiden name and came west. I ended up in Enterprise because of your friend Mr. Kirk, in fact."

"Really?" he said, surprised.

Christine nodded. "I was changing trains in Iowa. His mother had just died, and he'd come back to settle her affairs. We were on the same train, and he took it upon himself to take care of me all the way to Enterprise."

"Sounds just like him."

Leonard finally withdrew his hand then, for while the sun was nearly down, they were coming up on town and he knew it was not proper. But when he stopped at her door and helped her down from the buggy, he made a promise to her, the first but hardly the last.

"I will never hurt you, Christine."

Her eyes glistened in the sunset, and for quite a while, Leonard had to resist the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her again. But he would do this slowly and properly, for her sake. He took her hand gently and said, "Good night, ma'am."

"Good night, Doctor," she murmured in reply.

He waited until she had entered her house before he got back in his buggy and left. Her revelation had quite the opposite effect of what she had imagined. He felt no fear of her, no contempt, only pity and something very like love.

But slowly. He would do this slowly.

* * *

  
In the years since she ran away from St. Louis, Christine had kept her past to herself. A few well-meaning (if nosy) ladies in Enterprise had asked her how she had lost her husband. By then she had had enough time to invent a story about an illness. She would keep her answers short and divert attention away from herself. It was the only way to keep herself safe.

Yet in telling Leonard she did not feel like she had exposed herself to danger. He was irritable and sometimes frustrating, but in the months they had known each other, Christine had learned that at his core, he was protective of those he cared for. And at some point in that time, she had come to believe that he cared for her.

That promise he made after her confession meant more to her than he probably imagined. She had trusted him before that night, but now he understood what she needed. It allowed her to open up to him in a way she would not have imagined possible before Leonard McCoy came into her life.

After that day, if he did not have a patient to care for, he always came for her on Sunday afternoons and they went for a drive in the surrounding country. Often Joanna came with them, and Christine was eager to build a relationship with the little girl. She was a sweet child and very bright, and it was clear that her papa was very proud of her. She needed a mother, though. She was coming to an age where Leonard would not know the things she needed to learn. Christine did not want to presume, but she hoped that she could help in that regard.

She hoped she could help him in other regards as well. She was not ashamed to admit that her desires were stirred by him, by look or touch or sometimes his presence alone. Neither was she ashamed by the gossip their courtship was stirring in town. People would always talk, and besides, most of the people who'd mentioned the doctor to her had repeated a sentiment Jim had expressed some time ago, that they both deserved some happiness.

Christine was not sure of that for herself, but she hoped that she could offer some happiness to Leonard. Once she had believed that a second marriage was the last thing in the world she wanted, but as weeks passed and their courtship continued, she had to admit that she had fallen in love with him despite all her reasons to resist.

One Sunday, the buggy she heard stop at her door was not Leonard's, nor was he the one who knocked at her door. Christine had not expected him for a while, so she was still wiping dishes. She dried her hands on her apron as she went to the door to answer it. Jim was on her porch, his hand raised to knock again. "Mr. Kirk," she said in surprise.

"Bones sent me to get you," Jim said without any kind of greeting. His face was pallid. "There's been an accident."

Christine nodded. "I'll be ready in a minute."

She invited Jim in but was not surprised when he refused, going back to his buggy instead. She grabbed her bag of supplies, always kept ready, and threw off her apron. She had another in her bag which she preferred to use while she worked.

In her vanity, though, she had kept on her Sunday best dress instead of changing after church. That was a mistake she would not make again, but there was no time to change it now. The afternoon was cool, so she grabbed her coat. She would likely need it by nightfall.

On the way out of town, Jim explained what had happened. The rail line was nearing Enterprise, and a crane had collapsed this afternoon. "They were working on the Sabbath?" Christine interrupted in surprise.

"I don't know what they were doing," Jim replied. "But three men were caught under the crane when it went down. I was with Bones when he heard the news, so I gathered up a few men and came after him. It's bad, Christine. I don't know if you're ready to see this."

Christine checked her irritation at the assumption that she could not handle the sight of injuries, no matter how severe, and focused on the task at hand. "But Leonard sent you for me?"

"Yes. He said he needs help."

"Was there no doctor with the building crew?"

Jim's expression turned darker. "He's drunk."

For a moment Christine had an unholy desire to laugh. She knew as well as anyone in town that the young sheriff had a penchant for whiskey, but she also knew that he never drank so much that it seriously impaired his ability to do his job.

She asked a few questions about the extent of the injuries she was about to encounter. Jim explained in as much detail as he could, but it was not as much as she wanted to know. She would have to wait until they reached the camp and she either spoke to Leonard or saw for herself.

But Jim was not wrong. The camp was very quiet, even considering it was the Sabbath, except around the partial structure of a water tower. There was a flurry of activity at its base, where the crane had collapsed. They were probably lucky that the crane had not hit the tower itself. Men were clearing away debris and bringing what appeared to be buckets of water. A crowd had gathered around it as well, and Christine was somewhat surprised that Leonard had not come out and yelled at them all to get away and let him work in peace.

As the buggy approached, Christine saw many turn to stare at her and Jim. This was not her first time to visit this camp since it had neared Enterprise, and she recognized a few of the women. They were whores, mostly, who followed the camp as the rail line was built. Christine had been there to help one of them deliver a baby. Leonard had not been terribly happy when she went and nearly insisted on accompanying her.

She was polite to them, but did not linger to talk after Jim had stopped the buggy and helped her down. Christine saw three men from town helping clear the remains of the crane, including the younger Mr. Chekov. Leonard was at the center of it all, speaking to one of the men still trapped.

He looked up as Christine approached, and he seemed relieved to see her. "Mrs. Chapel," he said. "I need you."

She nodded and joined him, kneeling at his side. Her dress was going to be ruined. "What can I do?"

"We can get him stitched up before they get the post moved," he said, gesturing to the man farthest from him. Christine moved down the line and opened her bag. She could handle stitches.

Her patient seemed surprised to look up at the face of a woman. "Couldn't find another doctor?" he asked, his voice ragged.

Christine smiled down at him, and when someone nearby handed her a tin cup, she offered the water to him. "You don't need a doctor, sir."

He was, however, losing blood by the minute, so she got to work cleaning and sewing up the laceration. Every once in a while she glanced at Leonard, who was doing his best to examine the next man to determine if his leg would need to be amputated. Now and then she caught him looking at the unconscious man on the other side. That man was more caught under the debris than the others, and his breathing was shallow. Christine did not think he was awake at all.

She had been there an hour, spending much of her time talking with the two conscious men and keeping them calm, when finally the railroad workers were able to move the large pole trapping the men. Leonard took her by the hand and guided her out of the way, and as soon as it was cleared, they were both back with their patients. The one whose arm she had stitched up had, miraculously, not broken any bones. Sore but whole, he was helped to his feet by his fellows, and a cheer went up from the crowd as he hobbled away.

The second man's leg was broken, but Leonard determined that he would not have to amputate. When he made the pronouncement, the patient was not the only one relieved to hear it. Christine had witnessed and done many things as a midwife, but the thought of helping a doctor cut off a man's leg, even for his own health, was more than she ever wanted to endure.

She went to work setting the broken leg with plaster of Paris which Jim and Pavel Chekov had prepared. Jim had apparently done this before for Leonard. While she worked, Leonard focused on the last of the men, who had yet to wake up. Leonard kept telling her what was going on. The man's pupils were not the same size. Both his legs were crushed. His belly was hard. Christine paused her work long enough to whisper a prayer for the man, but she did not have the greatest hope.

Finally Leonard moved to help Christine. This caught the attention of the crowd around them. "Doc, you can't give up on him," someone nearby shouted. "He's still alive!"

"There's nothing I can do," Leonard replied, his voice steady.

"He's still alive!" the man in the crowd repeated.

"And I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker!" Leonard snapped. "He's bleeding into his belly and he ain't waking up. If you want to help him, make him comfortable, but I cannot help him."

Christine waited for the crowd to settle before she met Leonard's gaze. In a moment she understood what it had cost him to admit that he could do nothing to help the other man. "Are you all right?" she murmured.

He did not answer.

They stayed long past the limit of their usefulness, until the third man had died. Christine stayed by his side and held his hand as his heart ceased beating. Leonard had told her that he likely could not feel anything, but he had not tried to dissuade her from what she was doing. Instead, he stayed with her, fetching her coat from Jim's buggy and draping it over her to keep her warm as night descended around them and cold settled in.

Jim and the three others from town left first, leaving Christine alone with Leonard on the ride home. He helped her up into his buggy, and when he got in alongside her, he said, "Do you have gloves? Your hands are freezing."

Numbly, she retrieved her gloves from her pocket and put them on. They would have gotten in the way while she was working. Leonard soon clasped her hand with his, and she repeated her earlier question. "Are you all right, Leonard?"

She thought he was going to ignore her again, but he only took a while to answer her. Above the clip-clop of the horse's hooves on the hard earth, he said, "No. I know I cannot save them all, but..."

Christine laid her head upon his shoulder. "You would not make a very good doctor if you accepted that too easily."

They were a mile or two away from the camp by then, and he brought the buggy to a gentle stop. "What do you do when you lose one?"

She remembered then that he had lost both wife and baby, and he knew firsthand the kind of grief that ensued when she lost a patient. "It breaks my heart," she admitted. "Every time."

The moon above was full, and in the cold air the stars were shining brightly. In their light, Christine could see the pain on his face, and she wanted to ease it somehow. His thumb was now playing with the tiny buttons that ran down the side of her glove, and the motion grew distracting. Her traitorous mind suggested that there was much she could do to comfort him, and she bit her lip.

"Christine," he said in that low tone of voice that never failed to send a thrill through her. His hand came up to her cheek and she closed her eyes. She knew she ought to stop him, but that was the furthest thing from her desire. Instead, she whispered his name.

He kissed her urgently then, and Christine responded in kind. She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, not that he needed the encouragement. He was desperate for her, something she could not remember experiencing ever before, not even in her marriage. Leonard could not keep his hands from wandering; even through her clothes, his touch made her blood race. Hunger, wild and frantic, flared to life within her. When they finally parted, she was half on top of him, but she resolutely beat back any feeling of shame. She would not feel that here with him, because that would stop her from saying what she needed to tell him.

"Leonard," she breathed, her hand against his cheek, "I love you."

He drew far enough back to meet her gaze. There was wonder in his eyes, and then he laughed quietly. "Oh, Christine," he murmured, setting his arms about her waist and resting his forehead against hers. "Marry me?"

She laughed too. "Yes. Yes, I will marry you."

He pulled her close again for a long and tender embrace. A long time passed before they started back to town, and even longer before Christine could believe that this was not a dream.

* * *

  
McCoy had not planned on asking Christine to marry him just yet, so he had nothing ready. He did not have an engagement ring for her, and he had not spoken to Joanna about the prospect of a new mother. On these two grounds, he procured from Christine a promise not to tell anyone just yet. She had tried to protest about the ring, saying she did not need one to prove she was engaged, but subsided when he mentioned his daughter.

He waited until the next night to speak with Joanna. He hadn't been this nervous with her since the day the midwife laid her in his arms, but as then, this could not be avoided. When they had finished eating, he cleared his throat and tried to keep his tone light. "I wanted to talk to you, Joanna," he began, "about Mrs. Chapel."

"I like Mrs. Chapel," Joanna said. "She promised she would teach me how to knit."

Leonard remembered that. Joanna had been curious about it since she spent an entire recess watching the big girls at school knitting lace. He'd been grateful that Christine was there for that conversation. "Well," he replied, "she may soon have more time to spend teaching you how to knit."

Joanna's eyes were wide. "Why, Papa?"

He wiped his mouth swiftly and set his napkin aside. "Come here, my girl," he said, and when she got up, he lifted her onto his lap. "I've asked Mrs. Chapel if she would marry me, and she promised she would."

"Oh." That was all Joanna said for a minute, and then she caught him off-guard. "Why?"

Leonard fought not to smile. "Because I love her very much, Joanna, and she loves me."

She turned her face up to him with a curious frown. "How do you know that?"

This time he did laugh, and he kissed her nose. "She told me, little girl." He stood, swinging her up in his arms even though she was too big to be carried this way. "Now, we should clean up after ourselves. It would not do to have Mrs. Chapel thinking we are uncivilized, would it?"

He set Joanna on her feet, and she started gathering up the dishes for him to wash. She had more questions, however. "Will Mrs. Chapel be coming to live with us?"

"Of course. That's what married people do."

"Will she cook for us?"

Leonard turned a shrewd look on his daughter. "Are you tired of your papa's cooking?"

Being very young, Joanna did not know how to exercise tact. "You're not very good at cooking."

Leonard shook his head. "Yes, I imagine she will cook for us."

Joanna was quiet for a minute again, but she was not done with her questions. "What will I call her? Will I call her Mother?"

For this question, he had an answer, for it had already occurred to him. "Well, she will be your stepmother, and someday you may want to call her Mother, but I think that's something you should ask her."

For the rest of the night, Joanna asked more questions now and then. The last came as Leonard was tucking her into bed. "If Mrs. Chapel comes to live with us, where will she sleep?"

Leonard narrowed his eyes. He'd known her curiosity was going to be roused on this point. "She can share with me."

"Why?"

He used an answer which he imagined he would repeat often. "Because that's what married people do."

He purchased a ring later in the week and gave it to her on Thursday afternoon. It was a simple gold band with a small sapphire setting. Christine came by his office – the back room of the house, above which were the bedrooms – to talk about a patient, and standing amid his equipment, texts, notes, and medicines, he slipped the ring on her finger. It was only fitting, for he had fallen in love with her while they were working.

They had planned to go to the literary society meeting on Friday, but early that evening, there was a knock on his door. Hurriedly, Leonard answered it, Joanna running up behind him. He did not recognize the young man standing on his porch. "Can I help you?" he asked.

The stranger twisted his cap in his hands. "You're the doctor?" Leonard nodded, and the stranger went on in a thick Irish accent. "I'm Andrew Collins. The midwife told me to fetch you."

"Come with me," he said. "Tell me what you can."

He and his sister Gaila, Collins said, were recently come west with their respective spouses. They had stopped in Enterprise primarily because Gaila was pregnant. While the young man talked, Leonard remembered Christine talking about a new patient who, in her opinion, had spent far too much time on a train and in a wagon for as advanced as her pregnancy was.

"The baby's early," Collins continued. "Mrs. Chapel said she worries it's twins."

Leonard closed up his satchel and put out the lamp in his office. "Mrs. Chapel knows what she is talking about," he replied. "Joanna!"

His daughter had done this enough times since they came to Enterprise that she had already pulled on her coat and hat. She was waiting near the front door with a bag of her own in one hand and her First Reader in the other. McCoy was looking forward to the day when he might not have to take her to Mrs. LaGrange every time he was called away, but at least his neighbor never minded keeping her.

Together, he and Collins hurried toward the edge of town. "I'm McCoy, by the way," he said, realizing he had never properly introduced himself. "Leonard McCoy."

"You don't sound Irish," Collins said.

McCoy shrugged. "I'm from Georgia."

The house that Collins and his family were staying in was tiny even by Enterprise's standards. They entered into a long, narrow room, with a table set up on one end and a bed on the other. A closed door led, presumably, to an equally tiny room with another bed for the other couple. Gaila Donnelly would be on the other side of that door with her sister-in-law and Christine.

As McCoy took off his coat, he was shocked to hear a feeble cry of an infant. Without a thought to propriety and convention, he crossed the narrow space and opened the door to the other room. "Christine?" he asked.

On the birthing bed was a girl with bright red hair all matted with perspiration around her face. The third woman in the room came around the bed as though wanting to shield her sister-in-law from his view. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"It's all right, Mrs. Collins," Christine said. "This is Dr. McCoy."

Color rose in Mrs. Collins' cheeks, but she subsided. Leonard entered the room then and saw that Christine had the small, fussing baby in her arms. "Am I too late to be of use?" he asked.

She shook her head, and the moment he'd set the bag down, she pushed the baby into his arms. "Hold him," she said, not having given him a choice. "Gaila? Gaila, talk to me."

Leonard looked to the new mother and saw her face still contorted in pain. "I thought it was supposed to–"

Whatever she had meant to say was lost in a cry, nearly a shriek. "Mrs. Collins, go and tell Mr. Donnelly that Mrs. Donnelly is still in labor. Then I will need you back to help," Christine ordered. While the lady did as she was told, Christine looked back at Leonard. "Make sure he is all right."

Leonard nodded. "She's still in labor?"

"Yes. Gaila, sweetheart, we need to push again."

"Again?" Gaila said breathlessly.

The baby in his arms began to wail again, his voice a little stronger this time. The cook stove had clearly been moved from the kitchen into this room, and Leonard moved toward it, wanting to keep the little one warm. He was smaller than Leonard remembered Joanna being, but Collins had said he was early.

The baby was squirming against the blankets, and Leonard unwrapped him a little to get a look at his fingers and toes. They were bright pink, and when Leonard stroked the baby's palm, five tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb. It was a good sign.

Wrapping the infant up again, Leonard moved to his bag and pulled out his stethoscope. After getting it set in his ears, he briefly blew over the bell, warming it slightly before he put it against the baby's chest to hear his pulse.

The boy was still screaming, but Leonard heard a steady heartbeat.

Mrs. Collins returned then, drawing Christine's attention away from Gaila. She told Mrs. Collins to sit with her sister-in-law, and she looked at Leonard. "How is he?"

"He's fine," he replied.

"Give him to Mrs. Collins, then, and come help me."

Leonard did as he was told. Gaila finally got a good look at her son when the contraction subsided, and Leonard went to Christine's side. "Shouldn't the second one have come quickly?" he asked lowly.

"It's a breech," she replied. She sounded tired, and he wondered how long she had been here.

"Can you turn it?" he asked, rubbing her lower back gently.

When she replied, she was almost whispering. "I'm worried about prolonging this."

"There's a surgery," he offered tentatively. "I've done it before."

"Did the mother..."

He shook his head. "She was too far gone when I arrived."

Christine bit her lip for a moment. "We are not there yet. She's young. She should be able to do this."

McCoy played nurse for once, fetching a pitcher of warm water and a basin, then helped Christine wash her hands. When she was cleaned up to her satisfaction, she started her work, and Leonard made sure everything she needed was laid out nearby and orderly. Then he was left with nothing to do, so he stood by the young mother and let her clench his hand when the pains came and let his mind wander.

He had been present at a few births since coming to Enterprise, but perhaps it was the prospect of a second marriage that turned his thoughts back to that horrible night when he came home and found Jocelyn dying, their child already lost. For a while, Leonard had refused to believe the other doctor and the midwife that there was nothing they could do, but eventually he resigned himself to reality and sat beside his wife and held her hand until she slipped away.

He wondered, at least while Gaila wasn't trying to break his hand, if he was moving on with his life too quickly. It had not been long since Jocelyn died, not really. Yet he had given a ring to another woman, intending to share his life with her now. And, as he watched Gaila Donnelly's second son slip into Christine's waiting hands, deep in his heart was the fear that he would lose another woman he loved. He was not certain his heart could take it again.

When asked, he concurred with Christine's opinion that the new mother and her sons were all healthy. He shook the stunned father's hand while Christine and Mrs. Collins helped Gaila clean up, and he waited in the front room until Christine was ready to go.

He offered to drive her wagon, now loaded with the bed she carried to births, and take her home. She was talkative tonight, more than usual, wondering at their ruined plans, but mostly talking about the little family they had just left. "The Ladies' Aid will help them," she said. "They were not prepared for twins."

"No one is ever prepared for twins," he observed with a smile. "I'm not certain anyone is ever prepared for one."

Christine rolled her eyes at him. "But speaking of preparations."

"Yes?"

"It's been a day since you gave me this ring," she said, and he saw it on her hand. She hadn't been wearing it while she worked. "By now half the town must know that we are engaged. Soon we must be able to tell them when we will be married."

Leonard nodded. "How long do you need?"

"I have three months before another baby is due, and I doubt we'll be getting any newcomers before spring, so that should not change," she said. "It means I'll have more time to make new linens and whatnot."

"We could be married tomorrow and not worry with any of that," he replied.

"That is not how I want to start our life together," Christine objected. "Besides, Joanna may have taken the news well, but I think she will need time as much as we do."

He grumbled, but she was right.

They had reached her house by then, and he helped Christine unload the bed from the back of the wagon and then took care of the horse while she got her things in the house. Then, when he came back to the door to bid her good night, she instead asked him to come inside, and against his better judgment he did as she asked.

They were kissing almost before the door was closed, and Christine was grinning against his mouth. This sudden burst of energy surely came from her successful evening, and Leonard could not bring himself to do the proper thing and set her away from himself.

Her tongue was exploring his mouth eagerly as he backed her into the door. He let his hands wander over her body, but there were too many layers of clothing obstructing him. He could imagine, though, undressing her little by little. It would not be too long before he would be able to do so, and the thought made him groan.

When Christine finally pulled away from him, she was panting, her lips bright red from kissing him. "My best dress was also ruined last Sunday," she said, and it took him a minute to realize what in the world she was talking about. "I'd like to have something new for our wedding, so that will take some time as well."

He nodded, trying to figure out what to say. She was quicker, though. "Is something wrong, Leonard?"

"Why do you ask?" he said, not sure how to answer her question truthfully.

"You were quiet tonight after I turned the baby."

He blew out a sigh and rested his forehead against hers. "I don't know, Christine."

She touched his face, gently this time. "Leonard, I know how your wife died." Off his curious look, she added, "Jim told me."

"Jim tells everyone everything."

"No, he told me because I asked him," she replied. "Is that what you're worried about? That you might lose me the same way?"

His inclination was to keep that pain and fear to himself, but this was Christine, whom he loved. "Yes," he said simply, because he did not trust his voice to utter more than that.

"You've seen more women give birth than any other man in this town, I suspect," she went on. "But the doctor only comes when something has gone wrong."

It took him a moment, but eventually he realized what she was saying. He tended to think of birth as dangerous, and it certainly could be. But Christine had seen far more than he had, both good and bad. If she still wanted children after everything she had seen as a midwife, then he would trust her judgment.

He nodded and brushed his lips against hers. "I should go," he murmured. "Joanna should still be awake. She can sleep in her own bed tonight."

"If you must," Christine said, moving away from the door slightly.

Leonard laid his hand on the doorknob, but seeing the wicked smile on his intended's face, he shook his head. "Don't tempt me."

She feigned innocent shock, and he left laughing.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes the sapphire ring on her finger caught Christine off-guard. For a few days after Leonard gave it to her, she struggled with memories of Roger. Their marriage had never been what she had expected. He had courted her in earnest, and she married him after knowing him only a few months. But he had never intended to live in New Orleans, and he took her back to St. Louis. He grew distant before long, and then it all went so very wrong.

Christine knew that marrying Leonard would not have the same problems. No marriage was perfect, but she was older now and, she hoped, less naïve. But as much as she wanted to marry Leonard as soon as possible, she was glad to have a reason for a short delay. She wanted time to settle the anxiety in her heart and quiet the memories that so often haunted her.

If Leonard suspected any such tension, he said nothing about it. Joanna, he reported, was growing excited about the coming wedding, not apprehensive. Christine told him during their next Sunday drive that she had purchased all the goods for the things she wanted to finish before the wedding. On Monday evening, he arrived at her door with a sewing machine. He called it an early Christmas present. Christine was too stunned to speak, and Leonard laughed and kissed her.

They had known each other for most of a year now, and Christine had thought she knew him well enough to anticipate him. Apparently she still had much to learn, and as she recovered from the shock, she realized that learning more about Leonard McCoy could be a great deal of fun.

The machine, once she had learned how to use it, made short work of her sewing. Christine was an accomplished seamstress and could make tiny, even stitches very quickly, but nothing she did was a match for the machine. Her white goods were finished before she knew it. New sheets and pillowcases were trimmed in crocheted lace, as were petticoats and nightgowns. Janice came to help most days and even learned how to use the new sewing machine, although most of the time Janice was happy to let Christine use it.

The two went through Christine's clothes as well and determined that she really could use more than just a new best dress. If she had two more calicos, she would be well supplied for quite a while. There would be time for sewing after she was married, of course, but not as much. She would have a family to care for as well as her patients.

That was still a little strange to think of. "Are you nervous about marrying again?" Janice asked her one day, as they were cutting out pieces of pink calico for a new dress. "I should think I would be."

Christine refrained from making fun of her friend though she was sorely tempted. "I think anyone getting married ought to be nervous, whether it is the first time or the fifth," she replied. "But it's not Leonard that has me most nervous. It's Joanna. I've been a wife before. Being a mother will be new."

The next Sunday, Christine went for a drive with Leonard again, this time accompanied by Joanna. This had become routine for them after Leonard proposed. It had allowed Christine and Joanna to spend time together, so that they would be used to each other before the wedding. Joanna was very curious about everything, from sewing and knitting to the animals they saw out in the countryside to why people got married in the first place. Christine found herself growing fond of the girl without much trouble.

In between caring for her patients, Christine finished her three new dresses. The pink calico was pretty but rather plain; she intended to be able to work in it. The green lawn was much the same, although she would not mind if someone called on her while she was wearing it. The third was made of delaine, which would suit her except in the heat of summer. It was a deep but bright blue, and Christine would wear it when she married Leonard. A jabot of white lace cascaded down at the neck, and matching lace adorned the cuffs. Tiny buttons fastened the bodice, and the skirt was perfectly smooth down the front, gathering much fuller with a short train in the back.

She was very pleased when it was all finished, as was Janice, who had put nearly as much time into it as Christine had. With the fabric she had left over, she made a pretty little hat for Joanna as a Christmas gift. It would look lovely on her.

With her dresses completed, she packed her trunk and prepared to say goodbye to the place that had been her home almost since her arrival in Enterprise. Leonard's house was larger and better suited for a family, but as her things were moved little by little, she began to miss this house.

Janice stayed with her the night before the wedding, so that she would have help in the morning. They stayed up half the night talking, sometimes about the coming change in Christine's life, but as often about what had apparently just happened that afternoon. Jim had given Janice a ring. They expected to be married in June, though Christine privately thought that Jim would never wait that long.

The next morning, they scrubbed the house clean, ready for the landlord to reclaim it, and around four o'clock, they got dressed for the wedding. Jim arrived an hour later to escort them to the other side of town, where Leonard and Joanna lived, and where Christine would live now too. Fortunately she was too worried about the food she and Janice had prepared the day before to let herself get too nervous about what was about to happen.

Janice let Christine take Jim's arm as they entered the house, where a number of their friends were waiting, along with the preacher. Leonard's back was to the door, but as Christine entered, Joanna suddenly tugged on his coat and said, "Papa, Papa, she's here!"

So everyone was laughing as Jim brought Christine to Leonard's side, and they were all still smiling as the preacher married them. Afterward, everyone sat down for a supper together, but it was all a blur to her. Leonard sat at her side, and every once in a while they would look at each other and smile.

The only difficulty came when the last of their guests departed for the evening. The LaGranges were to take Joanna with them, and she would stay there for a few days to give the newlyweds a little privacy. But when the time came, she did not want to go and very nearly threw a fit about it.

Leonard was coming across the room to take care of the matter, but Christine stooped down in front of her new stepdaughter anyway. She brushed Joanna's hair back from her face. "Joanna, you've had your papa to yourself for a long time now, haven't you?" she asked, and the girl nodded. "Do you think I could have him to myself for a little while?"

Joanna's lip trembled, but she nodded. "Yes, Mother."

They had talked about what Joanna would call her, but they had not come to a conclusion. Christine was immensely gratified to hear Joanna call her that. "That's my good girl," she said, kissing Joanna's forehead. Leonard arrived at her side then and helped her to stand.

Then he lifted his daughter up in his arms to embrace her, whispering that he loved her. Joanna kissed his cheek and smiled before set her down, and Mr. and Mrs. LaGrange led her away.

And finally, they were alone, man and wife.

Leonard simply stared at her for a long while, enough that Christine felt an unholy urge to squirm under his scrutiny. He often watched her, but rarely had she seen so much desire in his eyes. Without looking away from her, he reached out and threw across the bolt on the door. Such a thing was hardly needed in Enterprise to deter theft, but his intention was clear. They were not to be disturbed.

"Do you have any chores to do?" he asked, his even tone not disguising his hungry expression.

Christine shook her head. "The ladies washed and wiped all the dishes. I'm afraid they probably weren't put back where you had them."

"Hardly the worst problem in the world."

A silence fell, and Christine clasped her hands to keep from fidgeting. Then Leonard cleared his throat. "I'm going to see to the horses," he said. "I'll be right back."

She could only nod, and she felt as though she could not breathe until he had stepped out through the back door of the house. She looked around for a minute. She had been in this house before but had never had cause to explore it. Now she saw a large room with a parlor to one side and the kitchen to the other. The kitchen had a water pump, a tremendous luxury. Leonard's office was in the room beyond, along the back of the house, and shelves full of books occupied most of the wall separating the two rooms. The windows in the front of the house probably let in a great deal of light, although it was winter now and the sun had been down for some time.

Christine went about the room, extinguishing the lamps until only two were left, one for herself and one for her husband. Carefully she picked one up and carried it to the narrow stairs leading to the second floor, where the bedrooms were. The first one was Joanna's, and it was very tidy. She wondered if Joanna made the bed by herself every morning or if her father helped her.

The last room was now her own bedroom. Leonard had set out some of her things already, like the glass lamp that stood on a table by the window, and the quilt that was spread across the large bed. Christine tried not to pay too much attention to that. He would join her soon enough.

Instead, she began to undress. While she was putting away her dress, she heard the door open and close, followed soon by footsteps on the stairs and down the hall. He stopped short in the doorway, and Christine turned around, blushing despite herself.

He waited until he had crossed the room to speak. "It amazes me that ladies wear so much," he said lowly, making her laugh.

She set her arms around his neck and kissed him all too briefly. "You should help with the petticoats," she suggested.

"Oh, I intend to help with a great deal more than that, darling," he replied.

Together they got her petticoats off, a process which would have been much faster had they not been kissing most of the time. Swiftly she pulled away and scooped up the undergarments to toss them in the general direction of her trunk, just as Leonard pushed her to her back on the bed. She laughed as he followed her. "Leonard," she protested, "what were you saying about me wearing too much? And here you are almost fully dressed."

He let out a testy sigh as he shifted to the side, going for the buttons of his shirt. Christine sat up beside him and helped. "You have some nerve, saying that when you're still in your corset."

She tugged his shirt free of his pants and finished unbuttoning it. "I wear it to bed."

That got her a strange look. "Not if I can help it."

They spent the next several minutes alternating between deep, hungry kisses and hurried fumbling with clothes. When Christine was divested of all but her stockings, she urged her husband to lie back against the pillows while she knelt over him. There they finally paused, Christine skimming her hands over his bare chest and broad shoulders while Leonard stroked her sides. His hands, so large and strong, came to rest at her waist. "My darling Christine," he murmured, "how I love you."

She cupped his cheek and gave him a soft smile. "And I adore you."

She leaned forward, letting her body rest fully against his, and kissed him slowly. After all, they had all night.

* * *

  
Leonard woke while the sky was still grey, though he hadn't been asleep for long. Christine was lying in his arms, and even through his exhaustion he had to smile at the sight. Her blonde hair was half covering her face, and on her shoulder was a mark he had left with his teeth sometime in the night.

Christine began to stir, so he turned on his side and brushed a hand from her waist down over her hip and back again. "Is it morning already?" she asked, her voice rough.

"Afraid so," he replied, and he leaned in to kiss her. "Good morning, Mrs. McCoy."

That got a big grin from her. "Good morning, husband," she replied, resting her hand over his heart. "Not that we need to get up for a while."

He hummed in approval. "I may keep you in bed all day."

She hooked her leg over his and ran her foot up his calf. "Does that mean you don't want me to cook for you today?"

"That'll mean getting out of bed, won't it?"

Christine giggled. "Probably."

"Only if we get desperate, then." He rolled to his back again, dragging her with him. She landed on him rather gracelessly, but he ignored that, sitting up with her instead. He trailed his mouth down her neck and lower while he steadied her with his hands at her narrow waist. "I still can't believe you wear a corset to bed."

"You like how it makes me look, don't you?" she replied.

She had a point.

True to his word, he did keep her in bed most of that day and the next. They had no disturbances from the town, which was nothing short of a miracle. The first knock on the door since the wedding was on the third morning after, when Mrs. LaGrange brought Joanna back. Much as Leonard had enjoyed his little honeymoon with Christine, he was happy to have his daughter back too.

Next morning came a snowstorm, so Joanna stayed home that day with them. She spent most of the day following Christine around, and Christine was patient with the girl. She did cast a few glances in Leonard's direction as he pretended to read one of his texts; when she caught his gaze, he couldn't help a smile.

Eventually Leonard called his daughter over and helped her with her reading while Christine got supper on the table. The process would go faster without Joanna underfoot, and soon Christine was calling them to join her. It was a better meal than Christine had managed to cook in the last few days, probably because Leonard was not distracting her while she tried to work.

"Well, Joanna," he asked at the end of the meal, "what do you think of Christine's cooking?"

"It's better than yours," she replied immediately. Christine, ever a lady, hid a smile behind her napkin.

It was Christmas Eve, so after the supper dishes were washed, the three donned their coats and headed outside. With one hand Leonard held their lantern, and Christine took his other arm, with Joanna holding her hand. The night was bitterly cold, but the wind had passed, so the walk to the church was not as bad as it could have been.

There was a Christmas tree in the church. Joanna had seen one before, but she probably did not remember it. Her eyes grew large when she saw this one, with its strings of popcorn, ribbons, and candlelit boughs. The sermon that night was short, mostly a reading of the nativity, and after the congregation sang a few carols, some of the young men started to pass out the presents that had been brought to the tree.

Christine and Leonard both had other gifts for Joanna at home, but one package was brought to her, bearing her name in Christine's elegant script. Inside it was a beautiful doll they had ordered from Chicago weeks ago. The doll had brown hair and green eyes, not unlike Joanna, and she wore a pretty pink dress. Joanna was so overcome by the gift that she could barely speak.

Even though they had agreed that gifts for each other were unnecessary, Christine and Leonard each received something. He had bought her a hat she had been coveting a few weeks ago. From her he received a tiny book, small enough to fit in his pocket. It was a reference book from Scientific American, with maps and census figures, tables of weights and measures, explanations of patent law, and even a description of the inner workings of a steam engine. The print was so tiny that he would probably need his magnifying glass to read it, but the pages were gilt and it was solid in his hands, for all that it was so small. He imagined that he would find great use for it.

Joanna was nearly asleep on her feet by the time they went home; Leonard carried her, and he and Christine tucked her into bed with her new doll. Then husband and wife walked hand in hand to their own bedroom. When the door was closed, Leonard set his hands at her waist and kissed her lightly. "Thank you for the book."

"I thought you might find it useful," Christine replied. "Thank you for the hat."

"Next year, we should abide by any agreement not to give each other gifts, though."

She smiled at him in amusement. "I think we know each other better than that."

* * *

  
The first few months of their marriage passed in happy quietness. Oh, they argued often, to be sure, but there was usually an undercurrent of playful competition in their quarreling. Afterward one of them would always apologize with a kiss, and usually with more than that.

As Christine had expected, Jim Kirk did not react well to the idea of waiting until June to marry Janice. Eventually he persuaded his bride to move their plans up to early April. That was as early as the Rands, who insisted on a church wedding, would allow.

Of course, it was just as well for Christine that the wedding was earlier than originally planned. By June, her condition would be apparent to everyone. In March she was already easily fatigued, so much that Leonard nearly ordered her to bedrest until they were sure that she and the baby were all right. Fortunately it did not come to that, but it made matters difficult for a while, even though Leonard was willing and able to care for her and Joanna when she was ill.

Joanna was thrilled to learn that she would have a baby brother or sister in the fall. Christine was teaching her knitting and crochet and embroidery, and already the little girl had grand plans for things to make for her sibling. It wasn't clear if Joanna would be this excited after the baby arrived and no one in the house got a good night's sleep, but Christine wasn't going to tell her that ahead of time.

The months passed slowly. Janice began to accompany Christine whenever she called on patients in case Christine became fatigued. Nearly every lady in the church told Christine how happy they were that she was finally having a baby of her own, after helping so many into the world. Leonard was as protective as ever.

When she was about two months away from delivering the baby, she got a summons from Leonard while he was working. It had been a few months since he had called her to help him, but the patient in this case was Jim. This time, at least, he had tumbled off his own roof instead of his father-in-law's. Christine brought Joanna with her, and Janice had the little girl settle in the kitchen to review her schoolwork.

Janice seemed to be set on keeping Christine out of the kitchen or the parlor. She came close to insisting that Christine stay in the back room, where Leonard and Jim both looked grim. "What's wrong?" she asked in lieu of more polite greetings.

"Jim sprained his wrist," Leonard said.

"That doesn't sound like you needed me."

"It's why that's the problem."

Christine fixed her gaze on Jim. "What's wrong?" she repeated.

"A man came by asking me about a Mrs. Korby," he said. "Startled me so bad I slipped and fell off the roof."

For her part, Christine felt cold suddenly come over her. Leonard was up in a moment and guiding her into a chair. "How long have you known?" she asked weakly, still looking at Jim.

He took his time in answering. "Christine, the minute I laid eyes on you, I knew you were running from something," he said gently. "You said you were from St. Louis. There was a story in the paper in Iowa that day about a man murdered in St. Louis and his missing wife. You fit the description."

She clutched her husband's hand as she tried to speak. "I – I didn't –"

"It was self-defense, Jim," Leonard said when her voice wouldn't work anymore.

"I believe you, and I will protect you," Jim replied, still staring at Christine. "But someone must have come through town and recognized you. The man in the parlor claims to be your brother-in-law."

Christine closed her eyes. Richard Korby was the last person she wanted to see right now. "Does he think I murdered Roger?"

"He thinks you were kidnapped."

That startled Christine. It had never occurred to her that someone would look at Roger's dead body and the broken dishes and the bloody knife and think that some intruder had killed him and taken her. It didn't answer the question of what to do about her brother-in-law, though.

She laid her hand over her belly and sighed. "I suppose he wants to take me back to the family now."

"He did say something about wanting to take care of you."

"Send him away," Leonard said, forcefully. "Even if she didn't have a husband, Christine wouldn't need him to take care of her."

"I know," Jim replied. "Christine?"

She took a long time in answering. The truth was that all these years she had wanted to forget Roger, but she never had managed it. Even marrying again and carrying another man's child had not kept her from thinking of her first husband. As she held on to Leonard's hand, she began to wonder if this was the way to be rid of Roger at last.

"I will speak to him," she said lowly. "But you must both promise not to leave me alone with him."

"Of course not," Jim replied, and Leonard held Christine's hand even tighter.

Janice stayed in the kitchen with Joanna while the men accompanied Christine to the parlor. The man was standing stiffly at the window, watching the street, but he turned when they entered. His eyes grew wide at the sight of her, but he nodded politely. "Good afternoon, Mrs.–"

"McCoy," she supplied, then gestured to Leonard. "This is my husband. Leonard, Mr. Richard Korby."

The two men nodded to each other; Richard said, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. McCoy."

"It's Doctor," Leonard replied, laying his hand on her back protectively.

Richard nodded again but turned his attention back to Christine. "You're looking well, Mrs. McCoy. I suppose I ought to have written first and saved myself a trip."

"You could have, yes," Christine replied.

There were several long seconds of silence while Richard seemed to gather his thoughts. It was strange to Christine that he had come all this way and hadn't decided what to say before now. Finally he sighed. "A friend of mine came through here last year and thought he recognized you. But he said you were introducing yourself as the widow Chapel. And you never wrote to us, to tell us you were all right. You let us believe you'd been abducted."

"I never dreamed you'd think I was kidnapped," she replied.

"The only other option would be that you were the one who–" He stopped short as the truth occurred to him. "No. No, you didn't – no."

Christine felt tears in her eyes. "Richard, he tried to kill me."

"My brother would never!" Richard's shock had faded, swiftly replaced by rage. Christine took a step closer to Leonard as she recognized the look Roger had had that night when she confronted him about the other woman. "How dare you? How dare you defame a man who gave you everything?"

"Yes, he gave me many things," Christine shot back. "But he never loved me. He was never faithful to me, and when I confronted him about it, he tried to strangle me. I did what I could to defend myself."

"So you admit it!" Richard turned to Jim. "Sheriff, I want this woman arrested at once!"

Leonard suddenly moved forward, but Jim was faster, staying Leonard with a hand on his chest and keeping him from doing anything foolish. "I'm not arresting her," Jim said calmly. "She says she did this in self-defense, and I have no reason to doubt her word."

"She's a liar," Richard spat. "She lied to you all about who she was, and she ran away from her crime. If that isn't evidence of her guilt, I don't know what is."

He stormed out, and after a glance at Leonard, Jim followed. Christine sank into a chair, near to breaking down in tears. Leonard knelt down before her, resting one hand against her abdomen. Their child was moving restlessly. He didn't say anything, though, which Christine was deeply grateful for. There was nothing he could say that would soothe her.

Eventually they were called away from their quiet, if not peaceful, reverie. The younger Mr. Chekov was soon let into the house by Janice, and he told them that Sheriff Kirk asked if they would come to the schoolhouse, if it was at all possible.

A moment's query induced Chekov to say that a stranger had been leveling all manner of accusations against Christine. Leonard dismissed the young man, and he stayed at her side. "Are you willing, darling?"

"No," she replied truthfully, for she could not bear to lie to him. "But I must."

He nodded, but before he helped her to stand, he kissed her belly. She squeezed his hands and fought to keep her tears at bay.

* * *

  
There was a large crowd in the schoolhouse, much larger than Leonard had counted on. All of the desks were full and men stood around the sides. Christine gripped his hand so tightly that her distress might be mistaken for labor pains. Fervently he hoped this would not bring harm to her or the baby. All these months of carefully watching over her might be in vain, and if Richard Korby caused her harm, he was not certain what he would do.

Captain Pike was sitting at the teacher's desk. He served as the town's magistrate, so it was no surprise to see him there. He looked gravely at Christine, then glanced at the men gathered in the room. "Would you be so kind as to let the lady sit?" he asked. His old war injuries prevented him from extending the courtesy himself.

Andrei Chekov was the one to offer Christine his seat. Leonard stood by her, his hand on her shoulder lightly. But he let her speak for herself. "Mr. Kirk?" she prompted, and Jim stepped forth, his arms crossed over his chest as he spoke.

"Gentlemen, Mrs. McCoy has lived among us for some years now and established herself as an upstanding woman, competent in her profession and morally above reproach," he said, the last part directed at her sullen accuser. "Tonight you have heard an accusation which anyone who knows her must regard as fantastical. But the law requires that we hear out her accuser, so let us hear him speak."

Christine kept her head down through the entirety of her former brother-in-law's litany of accusations. Leonard kept himself from physically assaulting the man by watching the reactions of the other men in the room. Captain Pike kept his expression neutral, but the others – especially those whose children had been delivered by Christine – mostly seemed to doubt Richard Korby's assertions.

At the end of his recitation, Captain Pike said, "All I could do for you, Mr. Korby, is send her back to St. Louis. At this point I only have your word against the word of a member of this community."

"She admitted murdering him!" Korby cried. "In front of me, in front of her husband, and in front of your sheriff!"

Pike turned to Christine in surprise. "Is this true, ma'am?"

"Why else would she run away?" Korby interjected. "Why else would she lie to you all for years about her name? No innocent would behave as she did."

"Mr. Korby, I did not address you," Pike said sternly. "Speak out of turn again and I will have you removed from this meeting."

With a gentler look for Christine, he addressed her again, and she gathered herself to speak. "I fear that my husband Mr. Korby was no gentleman," she said. "In the course of an argument, he tried to kill me. In defending myself against his attack, I killed him."

When Christine said no more of the circumstances of the event, Pike nodded. "I see no reason to disbelieve the lady's account of the matter, Mr. Korby."

"Hoodwinked, the lot of you," was his only reply.

Then Jim stepped forth again. "Captain Pike, if I may offer a word on Mrs. McCoy's account?" Permission was readily granted, and Jim proceeded. "Most of you know that I met Mrs. McCoy before she arrived in Enterprise. In fact, she was hastening away from St. Louis when I met her in a train station in Iowa. I encouraged her to consider making Enterprise her home. But during that train journey, I saw the way she was striving to conceal marks on her neck. They were bruises, the shape of a man's fingers trying to squeeze the life out of her."

The whole room burst into murmuring at that. Christine went stiff, and Leonard watched as Jim and Captain Pike looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, Pike called the room back to order. "I see no reason to proceed further, then," he said. "We have evidence to support Mrs. McCoy's version of the story."

Korby was red-faced and ready to explode, it seemed, but Pavel Chekov stepped in and settled the matter. "Go home, sir," he said. "Remember your brother as you knew him. Forget what you learned here, and go home."

Korby stared and stared at Christine, who managed to hold his gaze a long time. Finally he turned on his heel and left. With any luck, he would follow young Mr. Chekov's advice.

The crowd dispersed not long after. When all were gone home, Jim went to fetch Joanna from his wife's care, and he met the McCoys at their door. Leonard saw his wife and daughter upstairs, then returned to sit with Jim for a little while. At first they said nothing, but Leonard's curiosity had to be satisfied. "You lied for her tonight, didn't you?"

Jim shrugged. "It's as I told you and her before. I knew she was running."

Too grateful to quarrel, Leonard filled a glass for each of them. "Thank you, Jim."

"You're a lucky man, Bones," Jim replied, clinking his glass against Leonard's.

"We both are."

After a few minutes, Jim left, and Leonard retired for the night. Christine was sitting up in their bed, her hands resting on her belly. She did not look up when he entered. "Christine," he said, closing the door behind him. But he did not know what more to say.

She shook her head, as though she understood his inadequacy for the moment. "They did not drive me out," she said quietly. "They know now, and they have not driven me out."

Leonard came around the bed and sat down beside her. "Is that what you've believed all this time? That the town would drive you out if they knew what you did?"

"I thought it was the most likely thing. I killed a man, and then I lied to them all."

"You did both to protect yourself," he replied. "And you have done so much good in this town. There's hardly a house untouched by you. They will forgive the woman who set their broken bones and nursed their fevers and brought their babies into the world."

Neither of them slept well that night, having too many things to say. But the next morning, Leonard learned that Mr. Korby had left town at earliest light, seen off by Jim and a number of the townsmen. The afternoon brought Janice and several members of the Ladies' Aid to their house, where they spoke not a word of the previous night's events, but by their kindness showed that Christine would have their acceptance as much as she had their husbands' protection.

Strangely, it was at that moment that Leonard realized that Enterprise truly had become his home, and he would never desire another.

 

* * *

 

Epilogue

As the baby began to fuss, Christine looked out the window and saw that fat snowflakes were just starting to flutter down from the sky. She lifted her son from the cradle and smiled at him. He had just begun to notice that he was hungry, and Christine settled nearer the kitchen stove and began to nurse him.

Across the table, Joanna was watching with fascination. "Joanna, your reading," Christine said gently.

"Oh, of course," the little girl replied, situating herself with her father's Bible on the table, and she began to read. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by Him; and without Him nothing was made that was made. In Him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shine– And the light..."

"Shineth," Christine corrected, and Joanna went on.

"And the light shineth in the darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not." There Joanna paused. "That's a funny thing to say."

Christine could only smile at Joanna's commentary as she continued.

It was two months now since David was born and named for his grandfather, and they were now a year since Christine and Leonard were married. She could hardly believe it sometimes. But there she was, helping her daughter read while she nursed her son.

She heard the back door open; Leonard came into the front room just in time to hear Joanna read Christine's favorite verse. "And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us," Joanna read. "And we beheld His glory, the glory of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth."

She frowned, though. "Mother, how does a word become flesh? That doesn't make sense."

Christine smiled. "It's talking about Jesus."

"Oh!" Joanna replied, with wide eyes.

Leonard's entrance distracted Joanna from her reading. After greeting wife and daughter, he announced that he had just been at the church, where they were getting a Christmas tree ready for the night's service. There was no getting Joanna to concentrate after that. Christine soon dismissed her from the table, though she would need her help with supper once David had finished nursing.

When that was accomplished, Leonard took his son and cuddled him against his shoulder. David liked to be held for a while after he was fed, and his papa was happy to oblige him. "I spoke with Jim," Leonard said, lowly enough that Joanna would not notice while she played on the other side of the room. "If we have time, you should stop by to see Janice before we go to church."

"He's never going to learn, is he?" Christine said, half fond and half exasperated. "Babies come when they will, and there's nothing I can do to change that."

Leonard chuckled and kissed the top of his son's head.

Soon Christine called Joanna from her play; they were to have an early supper before going to church. As Leonard had suggested, they stopped at the Kirk house, where Christine saw more evidence to suggest the time was nigh than she had anticipated. As a result, she was hardly surprised when Jim arrived at the end of the service to tell them that Janice had gone into labor. The entire McCoy family went not to their own home but to the Kirks'.

Leonard stayed in the kitchen with Jim and the children. Over the next hour, more women arrived to help Janice and men to sit with the nervous father. Janice was the first in town to give birth since little David was born, and during the early stages of her labor, Christine sat next to her and held her hand. After a particularly hard contraction, Janice swept her hair back from her face and said, "Christine, are you acting differently with me because it's me, or because you finally know what this is like for yourself?"

Christine smiled. "Perhaps it is both."

"I only wish I could blame Jim for this," Janice said, keeping her voice low. Most of the ladies were elsewhere in the house, getting other things ready, but Mrs. Rand was still in the room, knitting tiny socks for the baby while she talked with Mrs. LaGrange.

"I always assumed that you were a more than willing participant," Christine replied in kind.

"Yes, but..." Janice bit her lip for a moment, which gave Christine a fair idea of what she meant.

"Janice, do you mean you were–"

Janice squeezed her hand hard to silence her, rather than because of any pain. "I think I was. And keep your voice down."

Despite her deep curiosity, Christine complied. "When did this happen?" She had wondered if something like this had transpired. Janice's pregnancy had seemed very sudden.

"Not long before the wedding," Janice confessed. "We were caught in a rainstorm and decided to wait it out in the barn on that abandoned claim south of town."

Christine remembered that storm. It had lasted for hours; Main Street was practically a body of water by the time the rain stopped. "And you cannot blame Jim?"

Janice shrugged. "It was my idea."

At that Christine could not help laughing at her friend. Janice was blushing, but she laughed too, letting Christine pull her into a close embrace.

Within an hour, Christine had to move to her usual place, letting others support Janice through the labor. The baby came quickly, not half an hour after the clock struck two. Jim was pounding on the door to be let in well before Janice and the baby were cleaned up. Taking pity on the man, Christine worked quickly.

By the time the door opened, Janice and Jim's tiny daughter was quieting down. Little David, on the other hand, was waking up, and Leonard brought him to her mother. Christine was happy to hold her own baby while she left the new family in privacy for a few minutes. Joanna was fast asleep in a chair by the fire. Leonard glanced at the girl and asked, "How long do you need to stay?"

"Not long," Christine replied. "This was an easy birth, and Mrs. Rand will be staying with them tonight."

"Well, I'd like to look at them both before we go," he said. She was hardly surprised. Janice and the baby were not his patients, but one was his friend and the other his friends' child, and he would not be easy until he had seen to them himself.

By the time Leonard got to examine the mother and infant, the new parents had given the baby a name, Winona after Jim's mother. Leonard was soon satisfied that Janice and the baby were all right, and a little before three o'clock, the McCoys finally headed home. Christine bundled David up and Leonard carried Joanna.

Outside, it had just begun to snow, and they walked through the silent world to their front door. The moon was bright enough that they did not need the lantern to see the road. When they were about halfway home, Christine thought of something and laughed to herself. "I suppose Jim will be disappointed before long," she said, at her husband's questioning look. "His firstborn arrives on Christmas Day and he cannot tell everyone that 'unto us a son is born.'"

Leonard chuckled at that. "I think he will enjoy having a daughter. I know I have."

"He will be a very protective papa, I imagine," Christine replied, thinking of the day a few months ago when Jim had stood up to protect her. She imagined she had not seen anything like the limits of his love. He would do much for the helpless, much more for his friends, and everything in his power for his wife and child.

They reached the house soon. Leonard carried Joanna straight to her bed; Christine lingered down below, laying out presents from Santa. She joined Leonard in their bedroom a few minutes later and laid David down in his cradle. He was fast asleep. "I imagine you will take Joanna with you when you call on the Kirks tomorrow," Leonard said while he settled into the bed.

"She will want to see the baby," Christine replied, agreeing.

While she got ready for bed, he folded his hands behind his head and blew out a sigh. "It's hard to believe a year has gone by already since we were married," he said.

"A little more than a year," she reminded him with a small smile.

"I know," he said, not rising to her teasing. "Feels like it wasn't that long ago that Joanna and I got on the train in Georgia."

Soon Christine was undressed, and she extinguished the last lamp and joined her husband under the warm blankets. He wrapped his arms around her and she closed her eyes in contentment. "Jim, by the way," he said, "claims that he asked me to come out here because he thought I ought to marry you."

Christine rolled her eyes, though no one could see it. She was in no way surprised. A minute later, though, she said, "Of course, that means he persuaded me to come to Enterprise on my own merits, unlike you."

As they were in the dark, she had no warning when he began to tickle her in retaliation for that remark. Christine tried desperately to keep quiet, not wanting to wake the children, but eventually Leonard was forced to muffle the noise with a kiss, long and slow and hungry. It put an end to his childishness in short order. When he pulled away, her vision had adjusted to the slivers of moonlight coming through the shutter slats. She touched his face, fingers caressing his cheek and unshaven jaw. "I suppose I should be grateful to Jim no matter why he got us out here," she murmured.

"I suppose," he drawled in agreement, "but there's no reason to tell him that."

Christine grinned, and she drew him down for another kiss.


End file.
